I bet you think you’ve got me all figured out. You see me as just another pretty face in a crowd, but in reality I’m far more than that. I’m a dreamer. I’m a thinker. And most importantly, I’m an introvert. Yeah, like, whoa, right?
So many turn a blind eye to the challenges of being an introvert at a party school. All my friends want to do is party, and I want to party, too, but like, less. My friends have to realize that I can’t go blackout with them every weekend; sometimes I have to just say no and finish a bottle of Barefoot in the comfort of my own room.
I know I may not be the poster child for introversion, but that doesn’t make me any less introverted than nerds. I’m not just trying to have fun out here; sometimes I want to go out, but then it’s time for fat leggings and singing Avril Lavigne in the shower.
Life is exhausting, and sometimes it feels like the only people who recognize my true nature are Myers and Briggs. Yeah, you heard me right. My Myers-Briggs type is INFT. You know what that stands for, right? Yeah, introvert!
Every now and then, I want to wear cute fuzzy socks with a “Michigan Grandpa” T-shirt and watch “One Tree Hill.” Like fucking hell, Joe, I am not interested in “hanging at Charley’s tonight.” Why can’t you just accept that the pressure of maintaining appearances and the draining nature of human interaction pain me as the introvert I am? It’s not even $4 Burger Thursdays, so just text me tomorrow, Jesus.
Ultimately, all I want is for people here to see that underneath this mad-cute bandeau, there is a living, breathing person that doesn’t want to talk to you while you’re wearing those shoes. It is often difficult to speak your truth when your voice is fucking shot from Sara’s thing at Landmark last night, but the importance of awareness for me and my fellow introverts propels me forward.
